Tag: morality

The Cost of Compassion in Brothers in Exile

At its heart, Brothers in Exile is a character-driven space opera and science fiction adventure built around a single, defining moral choice. The story asks a deceptively simple question: what happens when compassion turns freedom into responsibility? From that choice grows a story about brotherhood, moral obligation, and the moment when an independent life gives way to lasting commitment.

Where the Idea Came From

Brothers in Exile grew out of my thoughts on frontier stories about rugged individualism and personal freedom. On the edge of civilization, mobility means safety: you can leave, disengage, and avoid entanglements. I wanted to explore what happens when characters reject that logic—not because they’re naïve, but because compassion demands commitment. What if, in a frontier science fiction setting, compassion isn’t a momentary kindness, but a decision that permanently ties you to others—and to a future you can no longer walk away from?

How the Cost of Compassion Shapes the Story

In Brothers in Exile, Isaac and Aaron begin as independent starfarers with no fixed home, no political allegiance, and no long-term obligations beyond each other. Compassion changes that. When they choose to help a young woman frozen in cryosleep—someone they were never meant to be responsible for—they are no longer merely passing through the Outworlds. They become involved—personally, morally, and historically.

The cost of compassion in this story is not framed as regret or doubt; the brothers never question whether they did the right thing. Instead, the cost appears as entanglement: new enemies, new loyalties, new dangers, and the slow erosion of the freedom they once prized. Isaac feels this as the weight of responsibility—each compassionate choice narrowing his room to maneuver. Aaron experiences it as clarity: once you recognize another person’s humanity, walking away is no longer an option.

This tension—between freedom and obligation, independence and belonging—drives the conflict of the book and sets the trajectory for everything that follows.

What the Cost of Compassion Says About Us

We often want to think about compassion as something offered freely, but real compassion creates bonds—and bonds create responsibility. Brothers in Exile reflects the idea that freedom is comfortable precisely because it avoids commitment. True compassion ends that comfort. It ties us to people, to places, and to futures we did not plan. The story suggests that while this cost is real and often painful, it is also the price of meaning. For readers who enjoy thoughtful, hopeful science fiction where moral choices matter more than spectacle, this tension sits at the heart of the story.

Why This Theme Matters to Me

This theme matters to me because I don’t believe that moral choices exist in isolation. Compassion changes who we are and what we’re responsible for next. In Brothers in Exile, Isaac and Aaron don’t lose their freedom because they make a mistake—they lose it because they choose to care. That choice doesn’t make their lives easier, but it gives them direction, purpose, and a place in a larger story. That, to me, is what makes the cost of compassion worthwhile—and why this story belongs at the beginning of the Sons of the Starfarers series.

Where to Get the Book

Related Posts and Pages

Explore the series index for the Sons of the Starfarers series.

Return to the book page for Brothers in Exile.

My spicy take on the ethics of AI art

There is nothing unethical about using generative AI to write or make art. Those who say otherwise either haven’t thought through their position, or they are lying for rhetorical effect. Or both.

If Andrew Tate wrote a book titled How To Enslave Your Woman For Fun and Profit, would he be within his rights to demand that no woman ever read that book? If you believe that AI is unethical because it was trained on writers’ and artists’ work without their consent, congratulations—that is exactly the position you have taken. You can’t pick up one end of the stick without also picking up the other.

Whether or not writers and artists were fairly compensated for the use of their work is a separate issue. Many of these AI companies obtained their training data by indescriminately scraping the internet, which means the used a lot of pirated work. But if using copyrighted material to train an AI system is fair use—and here in the US, the courts have ruled that it is—then all that they owe you is the cost of your book. So if your book is $2.99 on Kindle, that is what OpenAI owes you. Congratulations.

Does Brandon Sanderson owe Barbara Hambly royalties? Brandon Sanderson has sold something like $45 million in books, comics, and other media. Barbara Hambly struggles to pay her bills. Barbara Hambly wrote Dragonsbane, the young adult book that inspired Brandon Sanderson to write fantasy. Clearly, her work had a deep and lasting influence on him. So does he owe her?

If you believe that AI companies owe artists and writers more than simply the price of their own published work, this is a question that you must wrestle with. If it counts as “stealing” to train an AI on artists’ and writers’ work, then every artist and writer is also a thief, and owes royalties to the people who inspired them. Which is why the word “plagiarism” has a tight definition, and why our legal code recognizes fair use.

There is nothing unethical about using generative AI to write or make art. Almost everyone who says otherwise is either lying to themselves about that fact, or lying to you.

Why would someone lie about that? For the same reason people accuse you of being a racist, or a sexist, or a fascist, or a white supremacist, or a Christian nationalist… because using that term gives them power. They don’t actually want to make a reasoned argument. They just want to “win” the argument without ever having to make it in the first place. They use words that they know will get the reaction that they want, and they scream them as loudly as they can until they get it. That’s what the public discourse looks like in 2025.

To be fair, this is not just something that happens on the left. Plenty of people on the right will scream “woke” or “based” or “demonic” to cow people into accepting their point of view. These words do have meaning, and can be used to make a well-reasoned argument—just like “racist” and “fascist” have meaning. But most of the people who use these words are just wielding them like rhetorical clubs to bully their way around.

There is nothing unethical about using generative AI to write or make art. Most of the people who say otherwise are just using the word “ethical” to mean “things I don’t like.” They don’t believe in objective good or objective evil, and instead believe that things like truth and morality are relative. In other words, they think that good and evil change depending on who’s looking at it. This is why so many writers today can’t write a compelling villain (or a compelling hero, for that matter). They just don’t understand how good and evil work.

So why should you listen to them when they scream at you for using AI? You shouldn’t. They don’t know what they’re talking about. Or worse, they do, but they’re lying to you, because they want to compel you not to use AI in your art. Why? Because they’re afraid that if you do, you’ll create something better than what they can create. And on that point, they’re probably right.

So this is why so much of fantasy sucks right now…

…because it’s impossible to write a villain who’s truly evil if your moral compass reflects our current-year’s understanding (or lack therof) of good and evil.

Seriously, it explains so much, especially the concept of “emotional ethics,” where characters are deemed to be good or evil based on how likeable or relatable they are. This happens ALL THE TIME in modern fantasy, and I HATE it. I don’t care if your character has friends or pets a cat or has a thorough and well-written backstory. If they do something I find to be wrong or immoral, I will judge them accordingly.

Great video. Worth watching.

Fantasy from A to Z: W is for Worldbuilding

What is the biggest thing that sets fantasy apart from all other genres? Without a doubt, it has to be worldbuilding. In every other genre (even science fiction, to some extent), the writer can get away with a loose or surface-level understanding of the world. But in order to do fantasy right, you have to build the world from the ground up, and include such an immersive and visceral level of detail that the reader feels like it’s a real world that they can lose themselves in. That is the feeling that readers want when they pick up a fantasy book.

At the same time, I think that most writers put too much emphasis on worldbuilding. It’s become trendy in writerly circles to talk about worldbuilding, almost as if it’s something you do for its own sake. In the best books, though—even in the best fantasy books—the worldbuilding is always in service to the story, and not the other way around.

For many of us writers, the act of dreaming up a world is the thing that immerses us the most in it. Daydreaming about our fantasy worlds and working out all of the details about it—that’s often the fun part, and the thing that got us into writing fantasy in the first place. But it doesn’t translate very well to the page. The things that seemed so cool to us when we were dreaming them up often come across as dry and boring when we write them out in a huge info dump.

In order for a reader to feel immersed in the world, they need to have a character that they can follow through it. The character’s experience of the world becomes the reader’s experience. But the character needs to be in motion—they need to have some sort of goal or objective that they’re working toward, even if they don’t consciously realize it yet. And it needs to be a struggle for them, at least on some level. Even in cozy fantasy, where the stakes are typically pretty low, the characters still have to put some effort into getting the things they want.

That’s because characters show us who they really are through the trials and struggles that they face. Just like in real life, hard times make us see what people are made of. Without that, readers have a difficult time connecting with the characters through whose eyes we want to show them our fantasy worlds. It’s through a character’s struggle that we find that we can relate to them.

Another thing I’ve noticed, particularly in some recent big-name traditionally published fantasy, is that the viewpoint characters are often just terrible people. If I met them in real life, I often think that I would find them petty, narcissistic, and repulsive. At best, they are amoral, and at worst, they are little better than the villains who oppose them—and yet, from the way they’re written, it’s clear that we’re supposed to latch onto them simply because they are the main character.

As a reader, that doesn’t work for me. If I’m going to connect with a character deeply enough to get that immersive fantasy experience, I want them to either be the kind of person I can admire, or the kind of person I feel like I can hang out with. Preferably both. And if the character is going to do something morally repulsive early on in the book, I need to see them wrestle with the ethics of it first, and perhaps feel some remorse afterward. Otherwise, it’s going to throw me out of the book.

Anything that throws the reader out of the book is also going to kill that immersive experience, rendering all that worldbuilding utterly ineffectual. In some ways, the reader first has to feel immersed in the characters before they can feel immersed in the world.

This is why the characters in the best fantasy books often have more depth and nuance to them than the characters in any other genre. When the book is set in our own familiar world, the characters themselves are often larger than life. The heroes are billionaires or ex-Navy SEALs, the love interests are supermodels or billionaires, and the villains are criminal masterminds or rival billionaires. But in fantasy, the larger-than-life element is the world itself, so the characters (or at least the viewpoint characters) often feel much more like real people, so as to ground us in the story.

I’ve often heard people say that worldbuilding is a bit like an iceberg, in that only 10% or so should be visible. But I think it’s more precise to say that worldbuilding should be grounded in the character (or characters) through whose eyes we get to see it. Of course, those characters are grounded in the conflict or plot of the story, since that’s what shows us who they really are. And the plot itself is grounded in time and space, which brings us back full circle to setting and worldbuilding. So ultimately, it’s all a virtuous cycle.

I don’t think I’ve ever found an author who does character better than Ursula K. Le Guin. I haven’t read much of her fantasy, but I did read Powers, and I felt so totally immersed in that world because I felt like I knew the main character even better than I know myself. It was an incredible reading experience, just like the best of her science fiction, which I adore.

Brandon Sanderson also tends to buck the current trend of morally ambiguous main characters who never really earn our sympathy or admiration. In almost all of his books, his protagonists strike me as good people—the kind that I can admire and hang out with. That fact, combined with how his books tend to be much cleaner than most contemporary fantasy, go a long way toward explaining his tremendous success (though of course, Sanderson’s greatest strength is his ability to write killer endings).

Bottom line, the best worldbuilding in fantasy is only as good as the characters through whom we experience it. Worldbuilding should always serve the story, and not the other way around.

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Fantasy from A to Z: V is for Villains

Back in the early days of the internet, when it was still a fun and carefree place, there was this thing called the evil overlord list (which is still up, if you want to read it). The list is organized like a top 100 list of resolutions that the smart evil overlord has made, in order to avoid the fate of all the not-so-smart evil overlords who have come before him. It’s got some really hilarious zingers, including the last one:

Finally, to keep my subjects permanently locked in a mindless trance, I will provide each of them with free unlimited Internet access.

Yikes. Explains a lot about the world today, doesn’t it?

But all joking aside, villains are a staple of fantasy literature—including the super campy villains that we love to mock with things like the evil overlord list. And there’s a very good reason for that. Every great hero needs an intractable problem to overcome. And while man vs. nature and man vs. self provide a certain degree of conflict, nothing provides a hero with more opportunities to prove himself than man vs. man.

When I was learning how to write fiction, the popular advice when writing villains was to remember that every character is the hero in their own story. Thus, every villain you write shouldn’t think of himself as the bad guy. Instead, he should think of himself as the good guy, who only does morally questionable things because that’s what needs to be done.

I do still think that there is validity to this advice. I still remember the moment when, as a young boy who was starry-eyed for all things Star Wars, I first saw the opening cinematic for the computer game Tie Fighter. It blew my nine year old mind to think that my beloved Rebel Alliance might actually be a band of terrorists, opposing the forces seeking to restore law and order to the galaxy. Suddenly, the one-dimensional conflict at the heart of my favorite franchise had a whole other dimension to it. I was hooked.

But in the last few years, I think people have become hungry for villains who are truly evil to the core. The transition probably began a while ago, around the time when Breaking Bad was still new. Walter White is an extremely complex and nuanced character, with a rich and well-developed character arc, exactly in line with the old writing advice. And yet, by the end of the show, he is genuinely evil. He gets a bit of a redemption arc in the last episode, but he is not a good guy by any stretch—and he admits it. In fact, the scene where he finally admits as much to his wife is, in many ways, the capstone of his character arc. He has no illusions about the fact that he never was a hero—not even in his own story.

These things tend to be cyclical and generational. From the mid-1960s to about the 2010s, I think most readers preferred villains who were nuanced. Even in Lord of the Rings, which really took off in the 1970s, Sauron is more of a force of nature than an actual human person. Besides, the true villain of Lord of the Rings is the ring itself, and everyone who interacts with it has a slightly different reaction, with some of them passing the test, and others failing (and, in the case of Boromir, redeeming themselves afterward). Besides, Tolkien wrote Lord of the Rings at the tail end of the last cycle, where from the 1910s through the 1950s the villains were unambiguously evil. Robert E. Howard’s Conan stories are a great example—there is no redemption arc for the Stygian priests or the remnant of Xuchotl.

The older I get, the more I have come to appreciate stories with unambiguous heroes and villains. That doesn’t mean that everything has to be black and white—just look at Lord of the Rings for that. But there’s a lot more room for nuance and complexity between two extremes than there is between different shades of grey. Again, Lord of the Rings is a good example of this. You can make a solid case that the true “hero” of that story is Gollum, who succumbed entirely to the ring and had absolutely no desire to save the world at all. And yet, the ring is unambiguously evil, and Gandalf, Aragorn, Elrond, etc. are all unambiguously good.

What would a revised version of the evil overlord list look like? Most of the tropes in the original list are based on recycled old franchises that have mostly faded from cultural relevance now. Would the new list include things like “I won’t waste time fretting about the corruption of my soul” or “I’ll harbor no illusions about being the good guy”? I don’t know, but I suspect that a good number of items will remain relevant for a long time. After all, whether or not the villain sees himself as the hero of the story, a good villain is always very competent at what they do.

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Fantasy from A to Z: O is for Orcs

Is anyone in this world inherently and irredeemably evil?

That is the moral question at the heart of the fantasy race known most often as “orcs.” They are occasionally called by other names, of course: goblins, tuskers, blackbloods, etc. Sometimes, you will also find different but similar fantasy races filling the same niche: trolls, kobolds, trollocs, ogres, etc. But the thing that ties them all together is that they are both inherently and irredeemably evil.

…or are they? In some iterations, the orcs aren’t necessarily evil, just savage—kind of like Robert E. Howard’s Conan, or his many stories extolling the barbaric hero who stands against the corrupt forces of a decadent civilization. I played around with that myself in my novelette “A Hill On Which To Die.” More recently, such as in Amazon’s Rings of Power series, the orcs are played up as sympathetic creatures, whose only true fault is that they come from a different culture than our own.

Here’s the thing, though. While I enjoy a good redemption arc, or a heel-face turn when it’s done really well, I also believe that there are some people and some cultures in this world that are wholly and irredeemably evil. They may not have started out that way—indeed, my faith teaches me that we are all children of an eternal Heavenly Father who loves us—but my faith also teaches me that evil also exists, and that there are some in this world who cannot be saved, because they have become sons of perdition.

Traditional publishing (and the entertainment industry more broadly) is currently dominated by people who skew to the left in their politics and their cultural values. As such, they are heavily influenced by the philosophies of thinkers like Rousseau, who posited that all people are inherently good, and that evil originates from social structures and institutions. That’s why they are so obsessed with “systemic oppression,” or with stories that obsess over victimization and victimhood—as if being a victim (especially of “colonization”) makes one inherently virtuous.

I don’t think that’s true, though. I think that some cultures are more virtuous or morally good than others. For example, when Columbus discovered the truth about the Amerindians he’d first made contact with—that they were the remnants of a tribe that had been conquered by cannibals, who had slaughtered all their men, put their women on an island, and were now farming them out for meat, visiting them once a year to devour all their infant children, then raping and impregnating them again before leaving—I believe that Columbus was justified in concluding that the culture of this vile cannibal tribe was inherently and irredeemably evil. And I believe that the world was made a better place after this culture was exterminated.

The term “orc” has its origins in Old English, especially in the epic poem Beowulf, where the word “orcneas” refers to monstrous beings who make an appearance in the poem. Tolkien was a scholar of Old English, so when he needed a name for his race of inherently and irredeemably evil creatures, he came up with the name “orc.” Tolkien also saw action in the trenches of WWI as a British soldier, and that undoubtedly influenced him as well.

It is an unfortunate reality of war that in order to fight effectively, you need to dehumanize the enemy. This is true, whether or not the enemy deserves to be dehumanized. World War I was perhaps the most senseless war in history, where the cause that everyone was fighting for was ultimately a suicide pact made by the incompetent and incestuous European royal branches. I honestly don’t know that the Germans were the bad guys in that war (though WWII is a very different story). I honestly don’t know if there were any bad guys—or any good guys, for that matter. The whole war was just a senseless cluster of a catastrophe.

So even though I do believe that some cultures are inherently evil, I can also sympathize with those who take a principled anti-war stance and say that we should all take a step back and focus on the things we have in common before rushing off to war. In our own day and age, there are many corrupt and evil warmongers who are working very hard to dehumanize the various groups that they would have us go to war against, whether those are Jews, Arabs, Russians, Ukrainians, Christians, Muslims, immigrants, or Trump voters. In such a complex world, there is a very real temptation to listen to such voices, and embrace the view that the other side is inherently and irredeemably evil.

And yet, there is such a thing as pure evil. There are some people who cannot—or will not—be redeemed. For that reason alone, I think there is still a place in our fantasy literature for creatures like the orc, who are inherently and irredeemably evil.

In Defense of Black & White Morality

I was born in 1984, and for most of my life, stories with black and white morality—in other words, stories about the struggle between good and evil, with good guys who are good and bad buys who are bad—have been considered unfashionable and out of style. This is especially true of fantasy, where grimdark has been the ascendant subgenre for basically the past two decades. The Lord of the Rings movies gave us somewhat of a respite from this, but the popularity of George R.R. Martin’s Game of Thrones seems to have turned everything darker and grittier, to the point where I just don’t enjoy reading most new fantasy anymore.

I remember going to conventions like World Fantasy 2009 and talking with other aspiring writers, most of whom could not stop gushing about this George R.R. Martin guy and how he was subverting reader expectations in new and innovative ways. So I picked up a copy of Game of Thrones, and after finishing it, I thought: “yeah, the writing was pretty good, and the story did have a lot of unexpected twists… but I hated literally every character in this book who was still alive by the end of it.”

Looking back, it seems like the greatest reader expectation that GRRM subverted was the expectation that he would finish the damned books. Then again, the books only really took off after the TV series got big, and I suspect that the real reason the TV series got so big was because of all the porn sorry, the sexposition that the writers threw in. (Sex + exposition = sexposition. Seriously, the term was coined because of Game of Thrones.)

So for at least the last three decades (Game of Thrones came out in 1996), grimdark fantasy has been in style, with its morally ambiguous characters and its gray-on-grey or gray-on-black morality. Meanwhile, stories that are unambiguously about the struggle between good and evil have been considered trite, passé, or otherwise out of style. We live in a modern, complex world, and stories with such black-and-white conflicts are far too simplistic and unsophisticated to speak to our times.

That’s a load of horse shit, and here’s why.

But first, because we live in the stupidest of all possible timelines, I need to preface this discussion by stating what should be obvious to anyone capable of free and independent thought: namely, that talking about morality in terms of “black” and “white” has not a damned thing to do with anyone’s race. Seriously. It is not racist in any way to use “black” to symbolize evil and “white” to symbolize good, and the term “black and white morality” is not an example of white supremacy or whatever. Frankly, only a racist would think that it is.

But if you’ve only recently recovered from the insane left-wing cult that dominates every aspect of our society right now, and terms like “black” and “white” still trigger you, perhaps it will help to keep these two images in the forefront of your mind as we talk about morality in terms of black and white:

Now, on to something of actual substance.

The biggest complaint against black and white morality is that it divides all of the characters into black hats and white hats. In other words, all the bad guys are unambiguously bad, and all the good guys are unambiguously good, with no room in the middle for moral ambiguity or complex ethical dilemmas. So in other words, the spectrum of morality in your story looks something like this:

Now, while that may work for a certain kind of story, I will concede that it’s usually a sign of poor writing. This is especially true of epic fantasy, where complex worldbuilding and an expansive cast of characters is typical for the genre. Black hats and white hats might work for a twenty minute episode of a classic western, but not for a multi-book epic fantasy series.

However, when black and white morality is done well, it looks a lot more like this:

Notice that every shade of gray is contained within the spectrum. Indeed, allowing for the extremes of good and evil is the only way to hit every shade of morality and have it mean anything at all.

Think of Lord of the Rings. Yes, there are purely evil characters like Sauron, and purely good characters like Gandalf, but in between those two extremes there is a lot of moral ambiguity. For example, you have Boromir, who falls to the temptation of the ring but redeems himself with his sacrifice; Gollum, who ultimately rejects the last remnants of good that is in him, but still ends up serving the good in the end; Sam, who isn’t particularly noble or heroic, but bears the ring without succumbing to its temptation because of the power of friendship; Faramir, a noble and heroic figure who nevertheless knows his own limits and recognizes that the ring will corrupt him if he takes it; etc etc. Even the hero of the story, Frodo nine-fingers, succumbs to temptation in the end, and only succeeds in his quest by a brilliant subversion of the reader’s expectations.

Now, let’s contrast (pun intended) black and white morality with gray and grey morality, which TV Tropes defines as “Two opposing sides are neither completely ‘good’ nor completely ‘evil’.” Here is what that looks like when it’s done poorly:

…and here is what that looks like when it’s done well:

Does anything about those two images stand out to you? Because the thing that stands out to me is that they look almost identical—which means, as a newbie writer, it’s much easier to get away with a badly written gray-and-grey story than a badly written black-and-white story. Little wonder that all those aspiring writers at World Fantasy 2009 were gushing about George R.R. Martin.

Of course, since there’s only so much of this morally gray soup that readers can stand, two other sub-tropes of graying morality have emerged to satisfy the readers’ unfulfilled needs: black-and-gray morality, which TV Tropes defines as “Vile villain, flawed hero,” and white-and-gray morality, where “the best is Incorruptible Pure Pureness, and the worst is an Anti-Villain.”

Representing both of those visually, here is what black-and-gray morality looks like:

…and here is what white-and-gray morality looks like.

Much more satisfying than the nihilistic, soul-sucking soup that is gray-on-grey morality, but taken individually, neither one truly represents the full spectrum of moral complexity. The only way to include every shade of gray within your story is to do black-and-white morality, and to do it well.

Also, do you notice how the gray on the right side of the black-and-gray spectrum looks a lot darker than the gray on the left side of the white-and-gray spectrum? Those are both identical shades of 50% gray, but they appear darker or lighter than they actually are, simply by association with only one of the extremes.

Likewise, even if a black-and-gray or white-and-gray story is done well, it will still feel like it’s totally black or white. And if you read a white-and-gray story for the contrast reading after a black-and-gray story, the effect will be more similar to reading a badly written black-and-white story, regardless of the quality of either one.

To get the full spectrum of morality, with all of its finer nuances and shades of gray, you must include both extremes of good and evil. Remember, here is what that looks like:

Which is why it’s a load of horse shit to say that black and white morality is “unsophisticated” or “simplistic.” Done poorly, perhaps that’s true—but you can say that of any book done poorly. Done well, though, a black-and-white tale of good and evil is more satisfying and complete than any other kind of tale is capable of being, even if done well.

“But Joe!” some of you may be saying right now. “What about blue-and-orange morality? What about that most bizarre of moral codes that is neither good nor evil, lawful nor chaotic, but bacon and necktie? What does that look like, represented visually?”

Fine. Here’s your blue-and-orange morality, which TV Tropes defines as “morality that’s bizarre, unconventional and distorted by human standards”:

He who takes the bacon path shall be with dinner blessed,
But he who takes the necktie path shall be for dinner dressed.

And here’s a poem by ChatGPT to explain the finer nuances of it:

In bacon’s sizzling embrace, flavors shall dance and sing,
A feast for the senses, a delightful offering.
Juicy and savory, its aroma fills the air,
Blessed is the one who follows the bacon’s dare.

Yet the necktie path, with elegance and grace,
Leads one to adornment, a refined embrace.
In formal attire, he walks the path of class,
Dressed for the occasion, ready to raise a glass.

For bacon nourishes the soul, brings joy and delight,
A savory indulgence, a culinary highlight.
While the necktie adorns, a symbol of esteem,
Preparing for gatherings, where memories gleam.

So choose your path wisely, with heart and desire,
Whether blessed with bacon or dressed to inspire.
For in the journey’s choice, a tale shall unfold,
Of dinners blessed or dressed, both stories worth being told.

A Much Deserved Fisking

In the November issue of Locus magazine, Cory Doctorow wrote an op-ed piece defending Jeannette Ng and the decision to strip Campbell’s name from the Campbell Award. At least, that’s how it started out, but it quickly devolved into a hatchet piece against everyone in science fiction whose politics lie somewhere to the right of Stalin.

Ever since Sad Puppies III, I’ve more or less gotten used to the gaslighting, hypocrisy, and projection that has become de rigeur in the traditional publishing side of the field. But somehow, Doctorow’s hit piece manages to hit a new high water mark for leftist insanity.

Since my own politics lie somewhere between Boadicea and Genghis Khan, I thought it would be fun to give the piece a good old-fashioned fisking. I can’t pretend to be as good at it as Larry Correia (and I sincerely hope he fisks it himself), but damn, if anything ever was written to be fisked, it was this ridiculous piece.

Doctorow writes:

At the Hugo Awards ceremony at this summer’s Dublin Worldcon, Jeannette Ng was presented with the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer. Ng gave an outstanding and brave acceptance speech

Translation: Ng reinforced the dominant far-left narrative in the science fiction field, telling the gatekeepers exactly what they wanted to hear and earning widespread praise for it.

True bravery is Jordan Peterson deleting his $35,000/month Patreon in protest of their hate speech policies, or Kanye West coming out as a devout Christian, producing a worship album, and announcing that he will no longer perform any of his old songs.

in which she called Campbell – the award’s namesake and one of the field’s most influential editors – a “fascist” and expressed solidarity with the Hong Kong pro-democracy protesters.

You know who else shows solidarity with the Hong Kong protests? That’s right—everyone’s favorite deplorable frog!

Now that’s a dank meme.

I’m curious: does this make Ng a white supremacist for showing solidarity with people who use such a rascist hate symbol? Does it make Cory Doctorow a dog whistler to the far right for appealing to these obviously racist deplorables?

Of course not, but that’s the level of insanity we’ve fallen to.

I am a past recipient of the John W. Campbell Award for Best New Writer (2000) as well as a recipient of the John W. Campbell Memorial Award (2009). I believe I’m the only person to have won both of the Campbells,

All red flags to deplorable readers like me,

which, I think, gives me unique license to comment on Ng’s remarks, which have been met with a mixed reception from the field.

I think she was right – and seemly – to make her re­marks. There’s plenty of evidence that Campbell’s views were odious and deplorable.

There’s that word: “deplorable.” Whenever someone uses it unironically, it’s a sure sign that they hate you. It’s also a sign that they don’t actually have a good argument.

It wasn’t just the story he had Heinlein expand into his terrible, racist, authoritarian, eugenics-inflected yellow peril novel Sixth Column.

I haven’t heard of that one. Thanks for the recommendation, Cory! I’ve already ordered it.

Nor was it Campbell’s decision to lean hard on Tom Godwin to kill the girl in “Cold Equations” in order to turn his story into a parable about the foolishness of women and the role of men in guiding them to accept the cold, hard facts of life.

Okay, I call bullshit. “Cold Equations” wasn’t about the “foolishness of women,” it was about how when our inner humanity comes into conflict with the hard realities of the universe, the hard realities always win.

Switch the genders—a female pilot and a teenage boy stowaway—and the story still works. Switch the endings—have the pilot decide to keep the stowaway, dooming himself and the sick colonists—and it does not.

In fact, it makes the girl even more of a hapless, weak feminine stereotype. Stepping into the airlock voluntarily is an act of bravery. In some ways, she’s stronger than the pilot—and that’s kind of the point.

The thing that makes “Cold Equations” such a great story is that it functions as something of a mirror. It’s the same thing with Heinlein: those who see him as a fascist are more likely to be authoritarians, while those who see him as a libertarian are more likely to be libertarians themselves. After all, fascism is “citizenship guarantees service,” not “service guarantees citizenship.”

It’s also that Campbell used his op-ed space in Astound­ing to cheer the murders of the Kent State 4. He attributed the Watts uprising to Black people’s latent desire to return to slavery.

Was John Campbell a saint? No, and I don’t think anyone’s claiming that. In the words of Ben Shapiro, two things can be true at once: John Campbell had some racist, sexist views, and stripping his name from the award is wrong. (Also, that Doctorow is full of shit.)

The Campbell award isn’t/wasn’t named after him because he was a perfect, flawless human being. It was named after him because of his contributions to the field. If we’re going to purge his name from the award, are we also going to purge all of the classic golden-age books and stories that he edited, too? Are we going to have the digital equivalent of a book burning? Because that strikes me as a rather fascist thing to do.

These were not artefacts of a less-englightened [sic] era. By the standards of his day, Campbell was a font of terrible ideas, from his early support of fringe religion and psychic phenomena to his views on women and racialized people.

What are the standards of our own day? In what ways are we less-enlightened? Are future generations likely to accuse Doctorow of being a “font of terrible ideas,” just like he accuses Campbell here?

Do unborn black lives matter? If Trump is truly a fascist, why does the left want him to take all our guns? Is it okay to be white? Is Islam right about women? Is transgender therapy for prepubescent children just another form of conversion therapy? Are traps gay?

When you free your mind to explore new ideas, a lot of them are bound to be terrible. It’s simply Sturgeon’s law. So is Doctorow criticizing Campbell for having an open mind, or for not conforming to Doctorow’s values and beliefs?

Who’s supposed to be the fascist again?

So when Ng held Campbell “responsible for setting a tone of science fiction that still haunts the genre to this day.

I’m pretty sure that taking hormone blockers and getting your balls cut off makes you a hell of a lot more sterile than anything else. Lesbians, gays, transgenders, queers—all of these tend to be sterile as a general rule. Most babies are still made the old-fashioned way.

Male.

Isn’t her word choice kind of sexist here? I mean, she could have used the word “patriarchal,” but she didn’t. She. Deliberately. Used. The. Word. “Male.”

White.

Is she saying that it isn’t okay to be white?

Exalting in the ambitions of imperialists and colonisers,

Come on, Ng. Let’s not be racist. There were plenty of imperialists and colonizers who weren’t white Europeans. After all, how can we forget Imperial Japan and the Rape of Nanking? Now that was an ambitious massacre. The Turks also ran a pretty brutal empire, as did the Zulus and the Aztecs. You can’t tell me that cutting out the beating hearts of more than 80,000 prisoners to rededicate your temple isn’t ambitious.

settlers and industrialists,”

Find me one place that was not built by “settlers.” Find me one human being on this planet who has not benefitted from “industrialists.” Who do you think makes the vaccines and antibiotics? Who do you think makes machines that harvest your food?

Just for a single day, I would like to see all of these anti-capitalist types live without any of the benefits that capitalism and modern industry provide.

she was factually correct.

And yet, so completely full of shit.

In the words of Andrew Klavan, you can’t be this stupid without a college education.

Not just factually correct: she was also correct to be saying this now.

Because it’s [current year]!

Science fiction (like many other institutions) is having a reckoning with its past and its present. We’re trying to figure out what to do about the long reach that the terrible ideas of flawed people (mostly men) had on our fields.

The best way to fight a terrible idea is to allow it out in the open while fostering freedom of speech. In the words of Andrew Breitbart, sunlight is the best disinfectant.

The reckoning that Doctorow is calling for is something that’s already built into the field. Science fiction is constantly evolving and revisiting its past. Good science fiction not only builds on the stuff that came before, it critiques it while taking the ideas in a new direction.

We don’t need to tear down the legacy of the giants in the field who came before us; we simply need to build up our own legacies for the generations that come after us. But that’s not what Ng and the social justice warriors want to do.

It isn’t a coincidence that the traditionally published side of the field is rapidly losing market share as the SF establishment seeks to purge everything that could possibly offend their progressive sensibilities. The people doing the purging can’t compete on the open market because their toxic ideologies don’t resonate with the buying public, so they’re forced to resort to the digital equivalent of burning books and tearing down statues. Meanwhile, indie publishing is eating their lunch.

Get woke, go broke.

We’re trying to reconcile the legacies of flawed people whose good deeds and good art live alongside their cruel, damaging treatment of women. These men were not aberrations: they were following an example set from the very top and running through the industry and through fandom,

Future generations will struggle to reconcile our good deeds and our good art with our cruel and inhuman treatment of the unborn.

None of this is new. All of us are flawed; every generation is tainted with blood and sins that are reprehensible to those that follow. Realizing all this, you would think a little introspection is in order. But the people today who are so eager to throw stones are completely lacking in self-introspection that they can’t—or rather, won’t—see their own blood and sins.

to the great detriment of many of the people who came to science fiction for safety and sanctuary and community.

Is science fiction a “safe space,” or is it the genre of ideas? It can’t be both at the same time. Ideas are inherently dangerous.

It’s not a coincidence that one of the first organized manifestations of white nationalism as a cultural phenomenon within fandom was in the form of a hijacking of the Hugo nominations process.

Bullshit. If you think that the Sad Puppies were white nationalists, you’re either stupid or willfully ignorant (a distinction without a difference).

Larry Corriea’s flagship fantasy series, the Saga of the Forgotten Warrior, is set in an Indian-inspired fantasy world populated entirely by brown people. Brad Torgerson has been happily married to a woman of color for decades. Sarah Hoyt is both latina and an immigrant.

If this article was written three years ago, you would have just called them all racists, but you can’t do that now because “racist” has lost its edge. You’ve cried wolf far too many times, and no one pays attention to those accusations anymore. That’s why you use words like “fascist,” “white nationalist,” and “white supremacist” to describe your enemies—not because you actually believe it, but because those accusations haven’t yet lost their edge.

While fandom came together to firmly repudiate its white nationalist wing, those people weren’t (all) entry­ists who showed up to stir up trouble in someone else’s community. The call (to hijack the Hugo Award) was coming from inside the house: these guys had been around forever, and we’d let them get away with it, in the name of “tolerance” even as these guys were chasing women, queer people, and racialized people out of the field.

Translation: we’re done with paying lip service to “tolerance” and “open-mindedness.” From now on, if you don’t look like us, act like us, or think like us, we’re going to do everything we can to destroy you.

I’m telling you, these people hate us. That’s why they call us “deplorables.” That’s why they paint us as racists and fascists, even when we’re nothing of the sort. They don’t want to listen to us. They don’t want to give us a fair hearing. They want to destroy us.

Stripping Campbell’s name from the Campbell Award is just another example of this toxic cancel culture. It isn’t about reckoning or reconciliation. It’s a naked power grab.

Those same Nazis went on to join Gamergate, then became prominent voices on Reddit’s /r/The_Donald, which was the vanguard of white national­ist, authoritarian support for the Trump campaign.

See, this is why I can’t trust you, Cory. Gamergate had legitimate grievances with Anita Sarkeesian, Zoe Quinn, and Gawker. Trump supporters had legitimate reasons to want to stop Hillary Clinton from becoming president. Yet you casually dismiss all these people as deplorables, racists, and fascists without even listening to them.

That’s intelluctually dishonest, Cory. It’s also a form of gaslighting.

The connections between the tales we tell about ourselves and our past and futures have a real, direct outcome on the future we arrive at. White supremacist folklore, including the ecofascist doctrine that says we can only avert climate change by murdering all the brown people, comes straight out of SF folklore, where it’s completely standard for every disaster to be swiftly followed by an underclass mob descending on their social betters to eat and/or rape them (never mind the actual way that disasters go down).

I don’t think Cory Doctorow has any idea what actually happens when society collapses. When the thin veneer of civilization gets stripped away, people will eat each other. We’ve seen this just recently in Venezuela, Syria, and Mexico. Here in the US, we can see the seeds of our own collapse in Chicago, Portland, San Francisco, Baltimore, and Detroit (all very blue and progressive cities, by the way).

Also, I don’t think Cory Doctorow has any idea what he’s talking about when he says “white supremacist folklore.” What is that even supposed to mean? Just a couple of paragraphs ago, he called all the Sad Puppies “white nationalists,” and that obviously isn’t true. By “white supremacist folklore,” does he mean all the science fiction that doesn’t fit his radical progressive political ideology? Once again, he’s painting with an overly broad brush.

Also, notice how he uses “white supremacist” instead of “racist.” He can’t use “racist” because that word has been overused. Give it a couple of years, and “white supremacist” will lose its edge as well.

When Ng picked up the mic and told the truth about Campbell’s legacy, she wasn’t downplaying his importance: she was acknowledging it. Campbell’s odious ideas matter because he was important, a giant in the field who left an enduring mark on it. No one questions that. What we want to talk about today is what Campbell’s contribution was, and what it means.

Whenever the people on the progressive left claim that they want to have a “conversation” about something, what they really mean is “shut up and let me tell you how I’m right and you’re wrong.” There is no way to have an honest dialogue with these people, because they will not listen to us “deplorables.” Cory Doctorow has already demonstrated this with his blanket accusations against all the supporters of Gamergate, the Sad Puppies, and President Trump.

These people don’t want to talk about “what Campbell’s contribution was, and what it means.” They want to purge him from the field. Metaphorically, they want to burn his books and tear down his statues.

Look, I’m not trying to defend all of Campbell’s views here. I’m all for having an honest discussion about his bad ideas and how they’ve influenced the field. But I don’t believe I can have that discussion with people who clearly hate me, and will do whatever it takes to cancel and destroy me.

After Ng’s speech, John Scalzi published a post where he pointed out that many of the people who were angry at Ng “knew Campbell personally,” or “idolize and respect the writers Campbell took under his wing… Many if not most of these folks know about his flaws, but even so it’s hard to see someone with no allegiance to him, either personally or professionally, point them out both forcefully and unapologetically. They see Campbell and his legacy ab­stractly, and also as an obstacle to be overcome. That’s deeply uncomfortable.”

Scalzi’s right, too: the people who counted Campbell as a friend are au­thentically sad to confront the full meaning of his legacy. I feel for them.

Do you really, though?

It’s hard to reconcile the mensch who was there for you and treated his dog with kindness and doted on his kids with the guy who alienated and hurt people with his cruel dogma.

Did you catch the sneaky rhetorical trick that Doctorow uses here? He assumes that we’ve already accepted his argument that Campbell’s views were odious enough to have his name stripped from the award. Now he’s using an appeal to emotion to smooth it over.

Gaslighting of the highest order.

Here’s the thing: neither one of those facets of Campbell cancels the other one out. Just as it’s not true that any amount of good deeds done for some people can repair the harms he visited on others, it’s also true that none of those harms can­cel out the kindnesses he did for the people he was kind to.

Or cancel all of his contributions to the field?

If Doctorow actually believes all this, why does he support Ng, who argues that everything Campbell did should be cancelled out by his most odious views? If anything, this is an argument against stripping Campbell’s name from the award.

Life is not a ledger. Your sins can’t be paid off through good deeds. Your good deeds are not cancelled by your sins. Your sins and your good deeds live alongside one another. They coexist in superposition.

Yes, and you should never underestimate the capacity of the human mind to believe two mutually exclusive ideas at the same time, especially when his name is Cory Doctorow.

You (and I) can (and should) atone for our misdeeds.

Not in today’s cancel culture, where everything you’ve accomplished can be erased by the one bad thing you tweeted or posted to Facebook ten years ago. There’s also no forgiveness or repentance, when you will be forever remembered for the worst thing you said or did.

We can (and should) apologize for them to the people we’ve wronged.

No. Giving a public apology is the absolute worst thing you can do in today’s cancel culture, because your enemies will smell blood in the water and come in for the kill.

Never apologize to a mob.

We should do those things, not because they will erase our misdeeds, but because the only thing worse than being really wrong is not learning to be better.

Oh, this is rich.

You first, Cory. Have you taken a good, hard look in the mirror? Have you really, truly asked yourself “what if I’m wrong?”

I don’t see eye to eye with Vox Day about everything, but he was right about this: you social justice types always lie, you always double down, and you always project your own worst faults onto your enemies. That’s why you’re so blind to your own hypocrisy, even when it’s staring you in the face.

I completely and totally agree that we should all strive to admit when we’re wrong and learn to be better for it, but you’re not in a position to tell me that, Cory. Not after painting all us “deplorables” with such a broad brush.

People are flawed vessels. The circumstances around us – our social norms and institutions – can be structured to bring out our worst natures or our best. We can invite Isaac Asimov to our cons to deliver a lecture on “The Power of Posterior Pinching” in which he would literally advise men on how to grope the women in attendance, or we can create and enforce a Code of Conduct that would bounce anyone, up to and including the con chair and the guest of honor, who tried a stunt like that.

Honest question: was the sexual revolution a mistake?

Asimov, Heinlein, Farmer, and all the other science fiction writers who explored questions of sexuality back the 60s and 70s were speaking to a culture that had abandoned traditional morality for a new, “free love” ethic. In other words, having thrown out all the rules, they now felt free to explore their newly “liberated” sexuality.

Was Asimov wrong in his attempt to rewrite our sexual norms? Personally, I believe it was, but I come from a religious tradition that still practices total abstinence before marriage and total fidelity within. Even then, it still depends on context. Groping a random stranger at a science fiction convention is obviously wrong, but playfully pinching my wife when the two of us are alone? Not so much.

I find it really fascinating that the woke-scolds of the left have become far more puritanical and prudish than the religious right ever was. Within the bonds of marriage, most of us religious types are actually very sex positive—after all, where do you think all those babies come from?

And Ng calls us “sterile.” Heh.

We, collectively, through our norms and institutions, create the circum­stances that favor sociopathy or generosity. Sweeping bad conduct under the rug isn’t just cruel to the people who were victimized by that conduct: it’s also a disservice to the flawed vessels who are struggling with their own contradictions and base urges.

Fair enough, but there’s nothing generous about today’s cancel culture, which is frankly pathological in the way it defines everyone by their worst flaws and basest urges.

Creating an environment where it’s normal to do things that – in 10 or 20 years – will result in your expulsion from your community is not a kindness to anyone.

But how can we know what will and will not be acceptable in 10 to 20 years?

Twenty years ago, it wasn’t considered hate speech to say that there are only two genders. Ten years ago, “micro-aggressions,” “safe spaces,” and “white privilege” were not a thing. In fact, we’d just elected our first black president, bringing an end to our racially divisive past. /sarc

In the next 10 to 20 years, will we adopt all the theories and ideologies of the radical left? Or will the pendulum swing back in favor of more conservative morals and standards? We don’t know yet, because the future has not been written, and frankly, it’s not our place to write it. Every generation reinvents the world.

There are terrible men out there today whose path to being terrible got started when they watched Isaac Asimov grope women without their consent and figured that the chuckling approval of all their peers meant that whatever doubts they might have had were probably misplaced. Those men don’t get a pass because they learned from a bad example set by their community and its leaders – but they might have been diverted from their path to terribleness if they’d had better examples.

Certainly. I’m just not convinced that these virtue signalling, social justice warrior types are the examples that we should hold up.

They might not have scarred and hurt countless women on their way from the larval stage of shittiness to full-blown shitlord, and they themselves might have been spared their eventual fate, of being disliked and excluded from a community they joined in search of comradeship and mutual aid. The friends of those shitty dudes might not have to wrestle with their role in enabling the harm those shitty dudes wrought.

I’m confused. Does Doctorow believe that women are strong and independant, or does he believe that they’re tender, fragile creatures that need to be protected from socially inept, “larval” shitlords? I mean, I can see how they need to be protected from predators, since all of us—women and men—are vulnerable to various degrees… but you’d think that a strong, independent woman would be able to hold her own against a socially incompetent geek who is simply a “flawed vessel.”

Since her acceptance speech, Ng has been subjected to a triple-ration of abuse and vitriol,

Join the club.

much of it with sexist and racist overtones.

You keep using those words. I do not think they mean what you think they mean.

But Ng’s bravery hasn’t just sparked a conversation, it’s also made a change. In the weeks after Ng’s speech, both Dell Magazines (sponsors of the Campbell Award) and the James Gunn Center at the University of Kansas at Lawrence (who award the other Campbell Award at an event called “The Campbell Conference”) have dropped John W. Campbell from the names of their awards and events. They did so for the very best of reasons.

No, they did it because they were bullied into it by the woke-scolds.

As a winner of both Campbell Awards, I’m delighted by these changes. Campbell’s impact on our field will never be truly extinguished (alas),

Yes, because what you really want is to tear down all the statues and burn all the books. Who’s the fascist again?

but we don’t need to celebrate it.

Back when the misogynist/white supremacist wing of SF started to publicly organize to purge the field of the wrong kind of fan and the wrong kind of writer, they were talking about people like Ng.

Bullshit.

The entire point of the Sad Puppies (which Doctorow intentionally and dishonestly mischaracterizes as “the misogynist/white supremacist wing of SF”) was to bring more attention to a diversity of conservative and libertarian writers, many of whom are also women and people of color. We were the ones who were excluded, not the ones doing the excluding. In fact, we invented the words “wrongfan” and “wrongfun” to describe the unfair way that we were treated by the mainstream establishment.

Please stop trying to gaslight us, Mr. Doctorow. Please stop projecting your own faults onto us, and recognize your own hypocrisy which is laced throughout this article. I don’t expect a public apology, since I wouldn’t offer one myself, but do wish for once that you would just listen to the people on the other side of these issues. Just. Listen.

I think that this is ample evidence that she is in exactly the right place, at the right time, saying the right thing.

Meanwhile, traditional publishing and the SF establishment will continue to implode, and indies will continue to eat your lunch.

If all you want is to be king of the ashes, you can have it. The rest of us are off to build the new world.

Trope Tuesday: Eagle Squadron

pdrm8846cYou’ve got your standard mercenaries: hired guns who fight for money.  Then you’ve got your fighting for a homeland types: mercenaries (usually) who used to have a cause to fight for, but now all they’ve got is each other, and maybe the hope that someday they’ll find a new homeland to replace the one they’ve lost.  Invert that, and you’ve got an eagle squadron: a ragtag bunch of volunteers who leave their homeland to fight for someone else’s cause, usually a sympathetic rebel faction or band of underdog freedom fighters.

It isn’t really fair to group these guys with mercenaries, since they aren’t fighting for money or fortune.  Far from it.  They believe so totally in the cause they’re fighting for that they’re willing to give up their lives for it, even though they could easily go home and live out their lives peaceably.  At least, that’s how it is on the idealist side of the sliding scale.  On the more cynical side, eagle squadron is really just a Legion of Lost Souls full of thugs and criminals who are hoping to clear their names.  Or, even further down the scale, perhaps they just love killing.

Even on the idealist side, there’s always the possibility that your terrorists are our freedom fighters.  After all, where did Al Qaeda come from?  The Mujahideen, volunteers from all over the Muslim world who joined with the Afghan freedom fighters against the Soviet invasion of the 80s.  When they won, it galvanized their Islamist cause and inspired them to take the fight to their homelands, many of which were ruled by dictators.  Since the United States props up many of these dictatorships, it was only a matter of time before they turned on us as well.

The name from this trope comes from three volunteer squadrons of US fighter pilots in World War II, who joined the RAF in the fight against the Nazis back when the United States was still neutral.  Since the Nazis have pretty much become the standard of all that is evil in the eyes of our modern society, the eagle squadrons are now heroes by default.  War is of course more complicated than that, though there is still room for heroism even in a world of moral ambiguity.

When the eagle squadron makes the ultimate sacrifice, you can count on them being remembered as heroes for all time.  That’s basically what happened with the Alamo: a bunch of frontier Americans sympathetic to the cause of Texan Independence went to join the fight against Santa Anna and made a bloody last stand when the war went out of their favor.  Of course, since history tends to be written by the victors, it’s arguable that this only happens if the survivors go on to win the war.  After all, plenty of expatriates volunteered to fight for the Nazis, but we don’t remember them in quite the same way.

Wow, this post turned out to be way more cynical than I’d intended.  The basic drive behind this trope is the yearning for an ideal, a cause to fight for.  We root for the eagle squadron because we want to believe that all it takes to defeat evil is for good men from across the world to take up arms against it.  If Eagle Squadron is led by the Incorruptible, then that might actually be the case, though it’s difficult to make that kind of a story anything other than black and white, one-dimensional, and utterly inauthentic.

I haven’t played with this trope too much yet, though I’ve been meaning to write a prequel book in the Gaia Nova series that tells the origin story for Danica and her band of Tajji mercenaries.  Her father was an admiral in the Tajji rebellion, and when the star system fell to the Imperials, they killed her entire family.  She escaped, though, and was taken in by an eagle squadron commander that fought alongside her father against the Imperial oppression.  After getting back on her feet, she leaves the Eagle Squadron to start her own military band, intent on getting revenge for the loss of her homeworld.  I’m not sure yet how the eagle squadron will play into that, but I see the commander as trying to dissuade her from this path.

In any case, it’s definitely a trope I want to play with.  I had a lot of fun with fighting for a homeland in Stars of Blood and Glory, so this would be a way to revisit some of the dynamics that made that story interesting.  You can definitely expect to see more of this from me in the future.

Trope Tuesday: Freudian Trio

Last week, I blogged about the Three Faces of Eve trope.  But if we’re going to discuss power trios in any depth, we first need to examine the classic Freudian Trio, one of the most prevalent combos and, in some ways, a precursor to all others.

As you might expect, the Freudian Trio borrows heavily from Sigmund Freud, specifically, his theory of the Id, the Ego, and the Superego.   The main idea is that the human mind is divided into three parts: the Id, which comprises our basest animal instincts; the Superego, which comprises our concepts of morality and social norms; and the Ego, which struggles to find a balance between the two.

In the Freudian Trio, these elements of the psyche are represented by:

Each of these character archetypes are fascinating in their own right, and deserve to be examined in much greater depth.  However, in the Freudian Trio, it’s the combination of the three that proves so fascinating.

When faced with an interesting moral dilemma, the McCoy often wants to screw the rules and run in with guns blazing, while the Spock advocates caution, reminding us of the prime directive.  Or maybe the McCoy is paralyzed by indecision, while the Spock is the only one cold enough to make the sadistic choice.  In either case, the way the Kirk manages to resolve it will almost always reveal something deeper about the world or human nature.

The thing that’s truly amazing is how prevalent this trope is in fiction.  To name a few:

  • Star Trek: McCoy (Id), Spock (Superego), and Kirk (Ego).
  • Star Wars: Han (Id), Leia (Superego), and Luke (Ego), also:
  • Star Wars: Emperor Palpatine (Id), Grand Moff Tarkin (Superego), and Darth Vader (Ego).
  • Ender’s Game: Peter (Id), Valentine (Superego), and Ender (Ego).
  • Lord of the Rings: Gollum (Id), Sam (Superego), and Frodo (Ego), also:
  • Lord of the Rings: Gimli (Id), Legolas (Superego), and Agagorn (Ego), also:
  • Lord of the Rings: Dwarves (Id), Elves (Superego), and Humans (Ego).
  • Arthurian Legend: Sir Gawain (Id), Sir Lancelot (Superego), and King Arthur (Ego) (I would argue that Guinevere fits the Id role better, but I’m not an expert).
  • The Dark Knight: The Joker (Id), Harvey Dent (Superego), and Batman (Ego).
  • The Matrix: Neo (Id), Trinity (Superego), and Morpheus (Ego).
  • Shaun of the Dead: Ed (Id), Liz (Superego), and Shaun (Ego).
  • Fullmetal Alchemist: Edward (Id), Alphonse (Superego), and Winry (Ego).
  • The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya: Haruhi (Id), Yuki (Superego), and Kyon (Ego).
  • Final Fantasy VI: Kefka (Id), Leo (Superego), and Emperor Gestahl (Ego).
  • Final Fantasy VII: Barrett (Id), Cloud (Superego), and Tifa (Ego).
  • Myst: Achenar (Id), Sirrus (Superego), and Atrus (Ego).
  • Starcraft: Zerg (Id), Protoss (Superego), and Humans (Ego).
  • Homestar Runner: Strong Mad (Id), Strong Sad (Superego), and Strong Sad (Ego).
  • The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly: Tuco (Id), Angel Eyes (Superego), and Blondie (Ego).
  • 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea: Ned (Id), Conseil (Superego), and Aronnax (Ego).
  • Twilight: Jacob (Id), Edward (Superego), and Bella (Ego).
  • Archie Comics: Veronica (Id), Betty (Superego), and Archie (Ego).

The Betty and Veronica one is particularly interesting because it’s also a love triangle.  In fact, most love triangles feature some kind of play on the Freudian Trio: the good girl vs. the bad girl, the nice guy vs. the jerk, the girl next door vs. forbidden love, prince charming vs. the loveable rogue.

Sometimes, the villains come from a dysfunctional or broken Freudian Trio, where one of the three died, was kicked out, or was never part of the combo in the first place.  When this happens, it’s called (aptly enough) a Evil Duo.  Examples include Pinkie and the Brain, Lex Luthor and the Joker, and Kefka and Gestahl (though that particular duo was very, very, VERY short lived).

Finally, it’s worth pointing out that the Freudian Trio is so common, it even occurs in real life.  Perhaps the best example of this would be World War II, where Churchill was the Id, Stalin was the Superego, and Roosevelt was the Ego.  With quotes like “never, never, never, never give up,” Churchill practically embodied the McCoy (his drinking penchant also helped), while Stalin, with his fanatic adherence to communism and his “million is a statistic” approach to the revolution, was as cold and calculating as you can get.  FDR was the one who held the alliance together, and it was only after his death that the Cold War really broke out.

Of course, it’s possible that we only see this trope everywhere because our brains are programmed to see it.  But if that’s true, it makes for an even stronger argument that the Freudian Trio plays on some powerful, universal archetypes.